I was stealing saltshakers again. Ten, sometimes twelve a night, shoving them in my pockets, hiding them up my sleeves, smuggling them out of bars and diners and anywhere else I could find them. In the morning, wherever I woke up, I was always covered in salt. I was cured meat. I had become beef jerky. Even as a small, small child, I knew it would one day come to this.
| Game | Time | WPM | Accuracy |
|---|---|---|---|
| 2399 | 2016-05-12 16:07:58 | 71.86 | 98% |
| 2241 | 2016-01-21 14:05:30 | 70.88 | 95% |
| 1923 | 2015-11-22 20:04:24 | 75.47 | 97% |
| 1853 | 2015-11-22 11:59:38 | 67.08 | 92% |
| 1782 | 2015-11-21 14:41:39 | 75.52 | 97% |
| 1065 | 2015-11-01 20:05:02 | 65.33 | 92% |
| 318 | 2015-10-15 16:31:03 | 70.43 | 96% |
| 79 | 2015-10-09 17:29:19 | 64.70 | 94% |